Isola

Chapter 20

20

Weevils infested flour in our barrels. Rats devoured our seed and grew so many and so bold that they would watch us eat. The sailors caught and held them by their tails—vying to see who could throw more overboard. As for me, I lay awake but did not venture out. I sat with Auguste at every meal but scarcely dared to look at him. Nor did we speak, and, seeing this, Damienne was silent too. No longer did she warn me about the secretary, but intuiting what I felt, she looked on me with fear and pity.

For five long days, our ship lay becalmed and festering. On the sixth day, the captain said, “The wind is picking up,” but none believed him.

The navigator said, “I see no sign.”

My guardian scoffed. “Wishful thinking.”

But the captain insisted, “The wind is rising. The men can feelit.”

My guardian stood. “Let’s see.” With his quick step, he took the ladder up and motioned us to follow. Then we stood upon the deck—all but Damienne—and watched the captain lift his handkerchief.

The air was still, and the white cloth did not flutter. With his mocking smile, Roberval said, “You see.”

“Hold on,” the captain said, and he climbed to the quarterdeck above.

My guardian said, “Do you think the wind is better there?”

We dripped with sweat. The cabin had been stifling, but the deck burned in the sun. Where there had been pens of goats and pigs, only chickens remained. We had eaten some animals, and the rest had died of heat and thirst because we had no rain to replenish our fresh water. Now the chickens pecked and fought for scraps, their faces bloodied, their bodies battered and half-bald.

Above us, the captain called out, “Wait.”

“We do wait,” my guardian answered with false cheer. “We are all waiting.”

As diviners search for water, the captain lifted his handkerchief again.

Suddenly, I felt it. A zephyr like a breath. The captain’s white cloth fluttered. “There it is,” he said.

My guardian climbed up to test the wind himself, and even he was startled to see his handkerchief begin to lift.

He walked across the ship to test the wind again, and once more, we could see his handkerchief float on the wind. Roberval stood transfixed, and then it was as if he’d never doubted. “It’s time,” he said. “Praise God.”

The next moment our captain was calling orders, and our men were lifting sail—but I leaned against the wall of the forecastle and closed my eyes. If only it were night, and I could be alone. I dreamed that Auguste touched my face.

My eyes opened. It was my guardian’s hand cupping my cheek.

My breath caught. “What is it?”

“Look alive.” He lifted his hand as though to strike.

Shocked, I ducked my head, but Roberval clapped his hands before my eyes.

I thought he would berate me, but he turned his back—too busy.

Our ship was waking, sails opening. Across the water, white sails rose on the Lèchefraye and the Valentine. Like birds, our vessels spread their wings. The sun still burned, but we began to catch the wind.

Nor was this the end of Roberval’s good luck, for just two days later, our cabin boy called out, “I see a gull!” Then all the sailors looked. Where is she? Where did she go? they called to the boy perched high on the crosspiece of the mast, but none could spot her. Some said the child had been dreaming, but my guardian gave him a piece of silver because birds were the first sign of land.

That day and the next, we sailed swiftly. Sailors climbed the rigging, colonists crowded the rail to scan sea and sky, and amongst them, the secretary and I stood without speaking. What will become of us? I thought. How will this voyage end? But I could not have guessed.

All watched and waited to see land, but Jean Alfonse saw our destination first. He called out at first light, and our sailors rang the ship’s bell for our sister vessels. Even the most jaded deckhands pointed eagerly.

Nothing but a dark smudge showed in the distance. What the men hailed joyfully seemed to me like clouds of an oncoming storm. But the navigator said, “That is New France.”

After eight weeks, we had arrived, just as Jean Alfonse foretold. My guardian congratulated him with a gladness I had not seen before. All cheered, the men, the officers, the colonists, even the wives, and we heard our fellows shouting from the other ships. Across the vast and trackless ocean, Jean Alfonse had guided us unerringly.

—

Each day, the prospect became clearer. My guardian stood on deck, and, holding his map, he ascertained that it was true, all Cartier had said. We were entering the gulf called Saint Lawrence, and this vast waterway was a sea unto itself with its own islands.

In the distance we glimpsed the mainland with its cliffs and forests thickly grown with trees. We gazed in wonder at this vast country, but Roberval took it as his own.

His eyes were bright, his shoulders square. Commander that he was, he stood on deck, declaring, “In the name of the King and by God’s grace, we will rule this land and govern it.” And quoting scripture, he said, “We will reign over the fish in the sea, and the birds in the sky, and the animals upon the ground.”

He ordered the sailors to weigh anchor and to scrub the ship, and now our colonists busied themselves, clearing out their quarters and throwing trash into the water. The men cleaned weapons, and my guardian had the ship’s boat prepared so that he might take a measure of the gulf, its tides, its islands and rocky coasts. In addition to his oarsmen, Roberval took the navigator and two men as guards, and they carried the long muskets called arquebuses, along with ammunition.

As he boarded the ship’s boat, Roberval instructed the captain to take inventory. “Check what biscuit we have left. Look for spoilage and count our stores of meat, salt fish, and wine.” With purpose, my guardian commanded the whole company. With keen pleasure, he turned to his new kingdom—and now, as he departed, I could breathe.

Even as the men set out on sparkling water, I saw myself as a small figure far away. I saw and knew what was happening, but it was as if I were observing someone else. Fear didn’t stop me. On the contrary, I thrilled to escape scrutiny. As soon as my guardian’s boat was out of sight, I took the ladder from the deck down to the cabin. I descended, and the secretary climbed down after me.

For a moment we stood near the table where Damienne was sewing. The captain was working in the hold below, so only she was watching, and she knew. She understood she could not stop me, and she kept her eyes down.

I stepped into our cabinet, and Auguste followed. He latched the door behind him, and now he swept me up in his embrace. I leaned my head against his chest, and for a long moment we did not speak, but we had little time and much to say.

“I saw him,” Auguste said. “I saw him clap his hands in your face, and I was on the quarterdeck. I could have jumped down.”

“And if you had,” I chided.

“I’d have killed him.”

I answered, “And then his men would have killed you.”

“Even so.”

I said, “I’m afraid to go ashore with him.”

“But we will be together.”

“How?”

“Like this,” he said.

“Will we have time?”

“We will have time there,” he said as he unpinned my gown.

“I meant now.”

He pulled off his doublet and untied my chemise.

I had only felt him through my clothes before. Now I shivered as he kissed my shoulders and my breasts. I felt his lips, his tongue upon my skin, and I was thirsty as he was.

We lay down, tangled in each other—his legs, my skirts. I stroked his bare arms and felt his impatient hands, his thumbs at the edges of my stockings. My breath came quick as I crushed myself against him. I wanted to press harder, closer, but I was afraid I would cry out, and so I hid my face.

“Too much?” he said.

“Too sweet.”

I do not know how long we lay together, for we had neither light nor air. We had no space, and we were still partly dressed, our clothes soaked with sweat. He kissed my bare collarbone. I held his head.

He said, “If we are separated, remember that you have me. You can’t lose me because you have me already. Do you understand?”

But even as he spoke, we heard rattling and scuffling and Damienne’s faint voice calling, “Come out.”

We sprang up as she called, “His boat returns.”

“It is too soon,” I told Auguste, but I did not trust my sense of time.

“It must be some accident,” Auguste said as I straightened my clothes. “What else would bring him now?”

“An attack.” I remembered talk of warriors, their arrows, and their spears. What if they were now upon us?

But there wasn’t time to wonder. In an instant, Auguste unlatched the door, stepping into the larger cabin while I sat on the bed.

“Quick.” Damienne rushed toward me. “Bend your head.”

I bent as she combed and pinned my hair. I tried to compose myself, although I still felt Auguste’s mouth and hands. “We have but a minute.” Damienne frowned but she stood with me even then.

“Damienne—” I began.

“Come to the table.”

Even as we took our chairs, we could hear the officers approaching. My guardian’s impatient step. The navigator’s voice. Auguste was ruling paper. Damienne picked up her work and gestured for me to take up mine. Already she was stitching, but before I could begin, the men burst in.

“We discovered four small islands,” Jean Alfonse was telling the captain, “and while I was charting these…”

My guardian interrupted. “We rounded a point and saw three ships sailing east.”

“And whose were they?” our captain asked, alarmed.

“Jacques Cartier’s,” the navigator said.

“No!” the captain exclaimed.

Auguste looked up, and so did I. Even Damienne stopped sewing.

“Was he coming to meet us?” our captain said.

“Well you might ask.” Roberval gazed at Auguste as he continued. “When we approached, his sailors were as surprised as we. We boarded the Grande Hermine, and Cartier greeted us.”

“But where was he going?” the captain asked.

Roberval was still looking at Auguste. “Why aren’t you ready?”

Auguste took up his pen. “I am now.”

“That is not answering the question,” said Roberval, but he did not pursue the matter. “Start writing.” Standing over his secretary’s shoulder, he began, “The eighth day of June, in the year of our Lord 1542.”

Rapidly, Auguste recorded these words while Roberval continued, “We met with Cartier, and he was much surprised, for he had not expected us. I asked about his colony Charlesbourg-Royal, and he said he must speak to me alone. I consented, and privately he told me this. That his men had suffered bitterly. That they had insufficient food and fuel in winter because they were besieged by natives who murdered all who ventured out. That thirty-five colonists had perished in this way, and twenty more from sickness and starvation.”

My guardian said all this in his ironical voice, as though the reports must be exaggerated, but he relayed the main point seriously. “For these reasons, Cartier’s remaining men grew mutinous and declared they would remain no longer. Frightened by these desperate souls, Cartier abandoned Charlesbourg-Royal, giving up entirely. He loaded his ships and set out to return to France. He had only just begun when, by the grace of God, we intercepted him.”

Here Roberval stopped.

Pen in hand, Auguste looked up, but Roberval did not continue.

“Is there more?” Auguste asked.

“There will be.”

Auguste waited, but Roberval gestured to his writing tools. “Put those away.”

Auguste closed his jar of ink. He returned pen and paper to his writing box.

“Now arm yourself.”

No, I thought as Auguste stood.

Don’t do it, I pleaded silently as Auguste lifted the curtain of his bunk to fetch his sword. Don’t trust him. It’s a trap.

“We will visit Cartier again,” my guardian said, “and we’ll explain our orders.”

With swords? I thought. With loaded guns?

Already, my guardian was climbing to the deck, followed by Auguste, the navigator, and the captain.

“Stay here,” Damienne murmured.

Alas, I did not heed her. Nor did I believe I would always have Auguste, if we were parted. New to love, I could not resign myself to silence, patience, absence. I heard our trumpet sounding, and when another answered, I took the ladder to the deck where the colonists watched Cartier’s ships sail into view.

As these vessels approached, my guardian chose eight oarsmen for the ship’s boat, still tethered to our vessel in the water. “You,” Roberval said, pointing to each sailor in turn. “You. You. You.” In addition, he took two men armed with muskets, but he did not ask for the captain or the navigator. He pointed to Auguste instead. “You. Come with me.”

Do not follow him, I begged silently. He is bringing you to separate us. He will leave you on Cartier’s ship. And at that moment, I was certain I would not see Auguste again. Anguished, I stepped forward—and he turned to look at me.

We never spoke. I never rushed to grasp his hand. It was only one sorrowful look—but my guardian saw us and stopped short.

Then even on that crowded deck, even with the ship’s boat waiting, Roberval turned on the secretary, his servant, and when he spoke, he was as I had never seen him—neither ironic nor coolly mocking but trembling with rage. “No,” he told Auguste. “You will stay behind. I will not have you near me. Not one who conceals his purpose. Not one who continues to go whoring. You will not serve me and pursue that .” He pointed at me.

With a flash of steel, Auguste drew his sword. “You will not speak of her!”

He lunged, but sailors seized him. He struggled to break free. He fought, throwing his whole weight at Roberval, but my guardian’s men were too many. They seized his weapon, tied his hands, and shackled his legs. Even then he tried to stand, but sailors pulled him down.

And my guardian spoke to the servant at his feet. “Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I tell you?”

“Please,” I cried.

My guardian spun around to look at me. His eyes traveled up and down, and he saw—what? Flushed cheeks? Rumpled skirts? A loose strand of hair? It didn’t matter. He knew my disobedience, and all the rage he had contained now cracked his glass demeanor. “What shall we do to dissemblers?” he demanded.

I did not answer.

“What shall we do with flatterers?”

Again, I did not answer.

My guardian gripped my shoulders with both hands. His fingers dug into my flesh. “What shall we do?”

“Don’t touch her!” Auguste shouted, but Roberval’s men cuffed and kicked him.

“Cut.” My guardian shook me. “Out.” He shook me harder. “Their.” He jolted me so that my teeth chattered. “ Tongues .” And now he threw me off so I could not see or stand. I staggered back against the crowd of colonists.

“Take him below,” Roberval said, but he gave no other orders, nor did he declare a punishment, nor did he speak again to me. Silently he watched his men drag Auguste down.

Then my guardian turned his back.

Rage did not suit him; fury gave too much away, and so he mastered himself as he mastered others. He knew his strength was mystery, and his power diffidence. Therefore, Roberval said nothing as he boarded the ship’s boat. His men took up their oars, and he cast his silence over us like mist.